


Just a Few Questions for You

by FalliciousPuns



Series: Fiedler's Llamas [2]
Category: The Spy Who Came in from the Cold - John Le Carré
Genre: 1960s, Cold War, East Germany, Gen, In Character, LETS FORGET THE END OF THE BOOK WILL HAPPEN OK, M/M, fiedler is asexual, leamas is not, shHHHhhhHhh, they talk about communism so, yeah it's fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 15:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10643136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalliciousPuns/pseuds/FalliciousPuns
Summary: "Fiedler didn't seem the type of man who would condescend to the level of actually being physically attracted to anyone, but Leamas wondered if the look in his eye during Leamas’ questioning could be purely Fiedler’s thirst for knowledge.  No.  It had to be sexual desire.  In Leamas’ experience it was always the sex."Alec Leamas has noticed something.





	

Alec Leamas checked himself in the bare bathroom, noticing not for the first time how grey the hair at his temples was going.  He knew he was getting on in years, but this was the first time he really felt a twinge of embarrassment about it.  

He’d seen the way Fiedler looked at him, like a puzzle to be solved.  Leamas had been in the business long enough to know the look of bottomless fascination.  In his younger days, he’d received it from many people, and given it to fewer.  To his wife.   _ Ex-wife _ .  To Liz then.

Control had said to hold back, not to be a tough nut to crack but to be a rock.  

Before Leamas could antagonize further, there was a soft knock at the door.  Leamas recognized the hand’s as Fiedler’s.  It was characteristic of the interrogator: seemingly gentle, intense, insistent and maybe, just maybe, there was a threat in there also.

Leamas went to the door and peered through the peephole just to make sure.  Fiedler was leaning against the opposite wall of the corridor clutching a bunch of flowers and nervously checking his watch.  

Leamas unlocked the door and Fiedler stepped in with innocent self-assurance.

“I brought flowers,” he said off-handedly, awkwardly.  

Leamas took them and put them in a vase.   _ Oh Fiedler.  Interrogators shouldn't wear their hearts on their shoulders, _ he thought.  He didn't thank the German.  Control would not have wanted him to.

Fiedler, peering out the window of the small apartment seemed not to care.  

He was so very driven, thought Leamas.  He just couldn't understand Fiedler’s devotion to communism, his unshakable belief that what he was doing was  _ right _ , his desire to understand why other people didn't see the world as he did.

He was so unlike Alec Leamas.

Leamas had had his doubts, in fact, lately his doubts had been more frequent.  They'd come when he’d last spoken to Riemeck, when he'd spoken to Control, when he'd left Liz, and now, when he saw Fiedler.

“I was thinking we could take a walk in the park.  Feed the ducks.”  Fiedler wasn't even looking at him.

Leamas wasn't sure what Fiedler thought of him, really.  Of course there was fascination, but of what sort?  Fiedler didn't seem the type of man who would condescend to the level of actually being physically attracted to anyone, but Leamas wondered if the look in his eye during Leamas’ questioning could be purely Fiedler’s thirst for knowledge.  No.  It had to be sexual desire.  In Leamas’ experience it was always the sex.

“I wanted to ask you a few more questions, so we will go to lunch after.”

Leamas chuckled.  “And if I'm not hungry?” he asked in a gruff voice.

Fiedler locked eyes with Leamas.  His cheeks looked soft as rose petals.  “You haven’t eaten since last night- there are no signs you ate breakfast.  I need you in good condition, and that means you must eat.”

Leamas shrugged and went to his room to get his coat.  He passed another mirror.  His grey streaks leapt out at him.  He pulled on his coat and joined Fiedler at the door.

“The park then?”

Fiedler nodded silently, showing Leamas out the door.

They strolled down to the park, which only took about five minutes.  It was a rather nice day, Leamas thought.  There were ducks splashing gently near the edge of the water and the grass felt springy rather than brittle.  Fiedler sat down on a bench by the bank, withdrawing a bag of crushed toast from his pocket.  He handed the brown paper bag to Leamas.

“Feed the ducks with me,” he said.

Leamas pulled out a heaping handful of crumbs and flicked one into the water that was only a few feet away.

“I was wondering again,” Fiedler said, “about ideology.”

Leamas rolled his eyes.  It wasn’t even forced.

Colour entered the german’s voice.  “You must have some tool to structure your beliefs, surely,” he said, quicker than before.  His accent was more pronounced, German breaking into the fragile Canadian.  Leamas guessed that he was excited.  “What do you believe in?”

“I believe in science,” Leamas said, shrugging.  “I believe in bombs and machinery.”

Fiedler’s face seemed to darken.  Then he looked up at Leamas.  “Then do you not believe in magic?”

“What?”  Leamas was thrown off by the odd question.

“They say true love is a kind of magic.”

Leamas was silent.

“Science says that love is just chemicals- nothing special about it.  Do you believe in true love?”  

Leamas bit his lip.  It was hard to admit that- “I don’t know,” he said.  He threw more crumbs to the ducks.  “I can still believe that true love is real even if science says it’s not,” he supposed.  He was thinking of Liz, maybe.

“Then do you really believe in science?”

Leamas groaned.  “Do you really believe in communism?” he countered.

Fiedler nodded.  “Yes.”

“Khrushchev’s communism? Stalin’s communism?  Trotsky’s?  Lenin’s?  Marx’?” Leamas asked, determine to get to Fiedler the same way Fiedler had gotten to him.

“I believe in my own communism.  What I think it should be.  Luckily, many people believe in the same communism.”

Leamas flung breadcrumbs into the water.  The ducks darted towards them, flapping and sliding over each other in their eagerness.  “Do you believe in true love?” he asked.

“I think…” Fiedler said, looking over at Leamas, “Maybe.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Leamas demanded.

Fiedler stood up, smiling almost shyly.  He sprinkled the remaining crumbs into the pond.  “Shall we go to lunch?” he asked.

 

\---

 

They went to a small place, shoved in an alleyway next to two firms.  

The sandwiches were good though, although a bit plain.  Fiedler seemed to be enjoying his more than Leamas. 

“Why the good mood?” Leamas asked.  

Fiedler hid a small smile behind his sandwich.  “Because I’m having a jolly time,” he said in possibly the thickest Bavarian accent he could have put on.

It was such a stereotypically British thing to say in such a stereotypically German accent that Leamas burst out laughing.  “If only Mundt could see us now,” he chuckled.

Fiedler’s expression soured.  “Let’s forget about Mundt for a minute, can we?”  The conversation was not going his way anymore.

Leamas raised an eyebrow.  Mundt was the only reason he was here.

“Do you want to kiss me?” Alec asked.  He needed a straight answer.  What exactly did Fiedler want?  

Fiedler’s shoulders slumped, as if everything had gone wrong.  “I think maybe.  Yes.”

“I saw the way you keep looking at my lips when I talk.”  Leamas paused, and the silence stretched.  “How about this: we go back to the apartment.  You have your way way with me, and at the end we both forget about it, and I get a monetary compensation.”  Leamas had been through this before, although he had never reciprocated any feelings.  He doubted if Fiedler’s feelings were anything more than physical desire anyway.  In his experience, they never were. 

They turned up the street that led them to the apartment building.

Fiedler looked repulsed at the thought.  “Not like that,” he said.  “I was hoping, well I guessed that… Maybe you… But I suppose you don’t,” he said.  He was very unlike his usually articulate self.

The ascended the stairs to the flat in silence.  Leamas was acutely aware of the sound that the shifting of fabric of Fiedler’s shirt made and the clacking of his shoes.

Leamas opened the door and saw the flowers that he’d forgotten about.  “Oh,” he said, realizing. “You…”  He looked at Fiedler who was shutting the door behind him.  He’d never been courted.  And Fiedler… he was just so interested in him.  Maybe… 

He turned to the interrogator.  “I’m sorry.  Kiss me.”

Fiedler looked him up and down, looking ashamed of himself, no doubt wondering if Leamas was trying to make fun of him. 

“Fiedler, I noticed how you looked at my lips, but did you notice how I looked at your eyes?  Your cheeks?”

“That doesn’t mean anything-” Fiedler said in disgust.  “I don’t want to make love with-”

“Did you hear the way I talk to you?  The way I can’t shake your words from my head?  Come on Fiedler, you’re an interrogator, you know people, you know how they work.”

Leamas was very close.  He could see each fleck of colour in Fiedler’s eyes.

The german leaned forward.  His soft lips brushed Alec Leamas’ cheek.  “I think, after your interrogation, we should leave together.  Maybe to Prague?  Somewhere nice, where we can just talk.”

Alec Leamas laughed and embraced him, burying his fingers in the other man’s hair.  “Oh I’m an old fool.  Why else would I keep falling in love with communists?”

**Author's Note:**

> Halfway through writing this I remembered that Leamas said that Fiedler has a bit of a Canadian accent and I lost it
> 
> ALSO it keeps autocorrecting llamas to llamas  
> LEAMAS TO LLAMAS  
> hNNNRRRRR


End file.
